


The Pureblood Purge

by Drarrymadhatter



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Implied Murder, Implied/Referenced Torture, good girl gone bad, kidnap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:53:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25697602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drarrymadhatter/pseuds/Drarrymadhatter
Summary: Hermione Granger's reputation for being the know-it-all good girl is as prevalent as ever. However, no one knows about Hermione's secret project to take revenge on those Purebloods who got off lightly after the war. Hermione manages to capture childhood rival Pansy Parkinson, intent on making her pay. But just how far is Hermione willing to go?
Kudos: 2





	The Pureblood Purge

The room was damp and dull, the light poor. The undecorated walls and floors were bare, save for a film of grime that clung to their surface. There were no windows. The only door in the room, a shabby looking wooden affair, was locked tight. Cross-legged on a rickety chair in the corner opposite the door sat a young woman. Her bushy curls were pulled back into a loose bun, making her usually thoughtful face look hard. Her charcoal robes, although clean, were severe-looking, almost at odds with her youth. Her sharp brown eyes were narrowed in cool concentration upon the only other piece of furniture in the room; a metal hospital-type bed. Or more accurately, they were fixed upon the unconscious young woman occupying the bed as she began to rouse, her dark eyes flickering open and scrunching shut again in disorientation. She had been out for hours now, and as she finally woke and registered her bindings, the young woman on the chair uncrossed her legs and leaned forward ever so slightly in anticipation.

“It’s about time. I was worried I had overdone it with the stunner.” 

“Granger?”

“Ah, you’re still in possession of your faculties.” The smile upon Hermione’s face was wide and inane, her voice pleasant as if she were talking to an acquaintance about the weather. “I’m glad. This would be no fun if you weren’t at least a little self-aware.”

“Granger, what—” gasped the young woman from the bed, as she tried to crane her neck to look around the room.

“That’s what happened with poor Pius just last week,” Hermione continued, as she stood up and walked slowly towards the bed, locking eyes with her victim as she advanced.

“P-Pius Thicknesse?” 

“Why yes, silly. Who else do you know with a name as pompously pure-blooded as Pius? I was in a rather dark mood when I took him down, and he never regained consciousness from the stunner. Pity.”

“You! You’re the one who’s been targeting us!” The woman’s terrified eyes seemed to bulge in realisation as Hermione paused beside her, looking down at her almost gently, except for the cold sheen within her eyes.

“There’s no point in struggling, the bonds are too tight to allow escape.

“Let me go! You can’t—you—Let me go!” The bound young woman writhed and tugged against her restraints hysterically, her words coming in whimpering breaths.

“Shhh, Pansy, shhh.” Hermione stroked her hands across the girl’s forehead rhythmically, causing her to abruptly cease her thrashing. “You don’t want to waste your energy. You have a rather strenuous few hours ahead of you.”

Hermione continued to stroke, enjoying how much it unnerved Pansy. She was always amazed at how some small, well-placed acts of kindness could be more terrifying than an outright threat. Pansy was beginning to grow still as she contemplated her predicament. Pansy, as much as Hermione loathed to attribute anything positive to the woman, was smart. Too smart, at times. Which was exactly why Hermione had been looking forward to this particular encounter. Pansy would try to talk her way out of this, and then she would likely bargain, and then she would beg. Oh, how Hermione would relish the begging. She might even look back on the moment again and again in her Pensieve. The notion made her smile as she waited for Pansy to finish her futile planning.

“Granger—or should I call you Hermione?” Pansy’s voice was light and almost calm, betrayed only by the merest hint of a wobble as she finished speaking. Hermione couldn’t keep the amusement from spreading across her face. So this was how she wanted to play? By trying to forge some kind of bond? 

“You can call me Mudblood.” She felt a thrill as Pansy winced at the slur. “You were always so fond of it in school.”

“Granger, I—”

“Mudblood!” demanded Hermione.

“I don’t use that word any more,” explained Pansy quietly. 

“Oh?” queried Hermione in false interest, “and, pray tell, why not?”

“I was a kid, Granger. It was all I knew. I don’t think that way any more.”

“Is that so?” Hermione demanded, her voice cold. “Well, that’s ok then. Never mind that you told me I was less than you, that I didn’t deserve my magic. Never mind that you made my life hell for years. You were just a kid, after all. Silly me for not figuring that out.” 

Pansy shrunk into herself at the mocking disdain in Hermione’s words, before rallying herself to reply. “I stopped thinking like that at the end though, but there was nothing I could do—”

Her words were cut off by Hermione’s sudden burst of laughter, sharp and shrill and short. “You hadn’t changed at all. You were ready to hand over Harry during the final battle! You believed your pure-blood crap so fucking much that you were willing to have Harry killed!” The fury usually buried so deep within Hermione was bursting to break free. She tried to reign herself in, ignoring the static magic crackling at her fingertips. It wasn’t time. Not yet. 

“Please, Granger,” whispered Pansy desperately as she tried to shrink away from Hermione’s magic. “I was a teenager, and I had lost some of my friends, and I was scared.”

“Harry was a teenager who had lost his entire family and some of his friends, and you can damn well bet he was fucking terrified.” Hermione put her hand into her robes and pulled out her wand, twirling it around her fingers nimbly. “Any other argument you want to exhaust before we get on with things?”

“Granger, look—you’re the good guy, ok? You don’t do this stuff.” Pansy’s voice had risen an octave as she watched Hermione twiddle her wand with fear-filled eyes. “Potter won’t forgive you when he finds out. And your Weasley, what would he say?”

“What Harry and Ron don’t know won’t hurt them,” stated Hermione blandly. “Anything else?”

“But—Granger—what are you going to do to me?”

“I’m glad you asked, Pansy,” smiled Hermione, seeming genuinely pleased at the subject turn. “We’re going to be finding out just how tough you really are before you beg for me to kill you.” She paused, taking a moment to enjoy the tears rolling down Pansy’s blotched cheeks. “But first, I thought we could find out just how pure your blood actually is.” 

With a flourish, Hermione pushed her sleeves out of the way and pressed the tip of her wand to Pansy’s forearm and dragged it slowly across the skin. As the rivulets of blood began to roll, as Pansy’s screams began to echo within the damp, dull room, Hermione felt her own blood settle and sing with pleasure. 

* * *

“Coffee, love?” Ron was sitting at the table reading the Daily Prophet, a steaming mug of coffee sitting in front of him.

“I’ll get it, you’re reading your paper,” smiled Hermione fondly, as she moved around the kitchen, grabbing a mug and the jar of instant coffee.

“You were late last night.”

“I know; I’m sorry.” She poured the hot water and milk into her mug deftly, eager for her caffeine fix. “The deadline for the Werewolf Rights Bill is just around the corner and there’s still so much to be done!” 

“You’ll get there, love. You always do.” The pride in his voice as he smiled at her made her heart stutter.  _ Merlin, how she loved this man. _

“Thanks. How about you? Anything interesting happen at work yesterday?”

“Not so much,” Ron replied blithely, turning the page in the paper. “Unless you count George almost being buried alive under a poorly stacked shipment of decoy detonators!”

Hermione found herself giggling fondly at the image of George struggling and Ron trying to help him.

“Merlin’s balls, look at this, ‘Mione,” exclaimed Ron suddenly, pushing the paper towards her. Right there, on page four, was a picture of Pansy Parkinson. 

“Parkinson? What’s she in the paper for?” queried Hermione lightly.

“Found dead, apparently. Someone cut her up good, from the looks of it too,” reported Ron, engrossed in the details of the article. 

“That’s awful,” sighed Hermione convincingly. “Do they have any idea who could have done it?”

“Nah, not that they’ve mentioned anyway. What a way to go, eh?” Ron shook his head lightly before turning the page of the paper.

“Oh, look, Flourish and Blotts is having a sale! You fancy going on the weekend and see if we can’t get you a few more books for your crazy collection?” joked Ron affectionately.

“Sounds good!” agreed Hermione, secretly pleased at her recent handiwork. She lifted her mug to her lips and smiled as she sipped. She needed to plan her next ‘project’.


End file.
